At last I have time to catch my breath.  This morning we caught a train from Cochin to Coimbatore, back across the Western Ghats (a mountain range) and then got a bus with a driver that was on a major suicide mission as he twisted and turned through the mighty chicanes up to the old hill stations of the British Raj. The mist hung over the mountain tops, monkeys sat at the side of the roads, totally unconcerned with all the reckless driving, and the air grew cooler as we left the heat and humidity behind. We arrived at the hotel, which sits like an eagle above the old hill station of Ooty, and the views are beautiful. I am full of beer, chapattis and chicken curry and dahl. And the last week is like a blur of impressions.

I can’t believe it was a week ago that I sat in the hotel in Mamallapuram and sighed at the rains. We did meet up with everyone on the group, as usual an

an eclectic bunch, all well-travelled and very keen to share their various experiences, and so the tour began. We marched through the heat and humidity to visit the amazing carvings or rathas of an ancient time. Some were single pieces and some were reliefs. And some were all carved out of the one piece of granite. I did love a picture of a yogi standing in the tree position looking suitable starved, high up in the Himalayan mountains, and way down the Ganges there is a depiction of a cat, standing in the same position with a huge belly and mice standing enticingly at his feet… it was a real joke, an ironic take on the aesthetic life, carved in the 7^th century.

The Shore Temple turned out to be one of seven. When the tsunami of 2004 happened, and the tides receded, six other temples were revealed that had never been seen before. Quite amazing. They continue to rest under the sea.

We did visit Pondicherry, and I was struck at the similarity with Hanoi. It was a French settlement, and still has that wonderful feel of wide streets, avenues of trees and colonial buildings.

We walked around the temple dedicated to Ganesh, and I watched a wild looking man with grey dreadlocks patiently threading jasmine flowers on to a string with a long needle. He then took it over to a priest who draped the garland over the shoulders of a small god, and then they both offered some prayers. The priest then tidied up all the orange peel and bananas and the wild man seemed pleased and walked off.

The night train to Madurai was good. I did sleep though I was not really enthralled with the heavy greasy blanket that I had to cover myself.  How many bodies had it been on??  Also I had to visit the toilet, and coming back I was a little concerned as I couldn’t find my bunk. I kept being confronted with black feet stuck out of the little curtains. It had a horrid feel of a morgue about it all. Eventually I climbed up on to my top berth and snuggled down and the rock and roll of the carriages had me off in la la land before long and suddenly we were in Madurai. Luggage wallahs took our cases and we followed them, creased and puffed up and bleary-eyed.

After a hot shower at the hotel we were off again, and taken to see the flower market. Oh my! There were flowers everywhere, in huge sacks and trays – roses, jasmine, marigolds, tuber roses and greenery and garlands and so many people buying and selling.

What an industry, all for the temple and religious ceremonies. I thought of my wild man and his simple garland that he had carefully threaded for his own particular god. There is a whole country busy doing the same thing, each and every day.

Madurai is dominated by the soaring towers of the Meenakshi Temple. They rise up with all the writhing forms of so many characters and deities, all in vivid technicolour. We had to visit barefoot, in order for our feet to enjoy the massage of the granite floors.

We saw a fusion of the peepol tree and the neem tree,

supposedly the masculine and feminine intertwined, and hanging in the branches were small baby carriages. Infertile couples come to pray there and place a carriage, and then pray to Ganesh who sits beside it. When they conceive and a baby is born they return and take a carriage and sail it away on a river as thanks to the gods.

Inside this amazing temple we came across another shrine where women come before they give birth; they smear turmeric oil on their bodies and pray for an easy labour then return later with their babies to give thanks. I watched one mother with her child. She placed a banana leaf on the ground and knelt down, and the child had the sweetest face with his eyebrows painted a very fierce black. Then in the next room was an array of bangles.  At 7 months the unborn child can hear the tinkle of the bangles, and learns to listen to the sounds around him. The mother plays him soft soothing music and then at the 9^th month, she removes the bangles and puts on a tighter bangle which presses on her acupuncture pressure points and helps her uterus to dilate. My goodness, this temple was a whole story in sex education. Everything was there. Our guide was actually a professional dancer, and at the end of the tour he did his party piece, and wobbled his head, made his hands depict a cobra and a lotus flower then lifted his legs and did a rendition of the cosmic dance of Vishnu. I was seriously impressed.

The following morning we drove through the lush rice fields of Tamil Nadu, crossing the foothills of the Western Ghats, through the ever changing landscape of plantations and verdant scenery. Tinu, our guide, was as excitable as a grasshopper and could not sit still on the bus. He was so excited to be going back to his homeland of Kerala. He jumped about, telling us about the various political parties of the various states, the liquor laws, and the high standard of education in his state. Finally he took us to his home where we met his mum and dad and sisters and aunties.

They had prepared a feast, which we all enjoyed. I did love the cardamom tea, and later his dad took us round his spice farm,

and we sampled and sniffed the ginger, cloves, nutmeg, vanilla, and pepper that we had seen earlier in the year. It was good to be with this man, who just loved his plants and told us so much. Elephants plodded about, and we were mesmerised by large blue and black butterflies.

Our journey across the Cardamom hills was winding and long. Pilgrims marching along the roads made us glad we had wheels, especially when the thunder and lightning started and the rains fell. Scenery was obliterated, and I did feel for the pilgrims plodding doggedly out in the wet, marching the hundreds of miles to some shrine, often foregoing food. The rain was so heavy, our driver could barely make out the road; all we could see was the blur of tea bushes, interspersed with pepper vines growing up silvery oak trees, and water pouring like rivers. It was a miracle we got down safely. Malcolm was very upbeat when he said he wouldn’t have minded ending his days on that road. It would have made interesting reading on his tomb stone: ‘Died on a road on the Western Ghats’. I suppose it’s better than in front of Coronation Street on the TV!

And so we came down to sea level once more, and ended in Allepey on the Arabian Sea.

After a night spent in the hotel from hell, we got a boat and sailed along the backwaters of Kerala, snoozing and snapping the scenes that we passed. It was all so restful and lazy and the day just slipped by.

We passed the Chinese fishing traps, looking like huge spiders, and on one I saw a row of white arctic terns, resting together. They were so white and glittery that for a moment they looked like a diamond necklace.

By contrast we saw a huge statue of a naked lady, not sure if she was a goddess, but she was quite muscular and had all her bits and pieces. Rob may have voiced what we all thought, ‘nice arse, but a pity about the face!’

We did stop to have lunch served on a banana leaf, then it was back on board for more sitting and gazing.

We drifted past silent wide expanses of water, with Brahmani kites, egrets and cormorants by the dozen, and washing was drying on bushes.  On either side of the river we passed miles and miles of coconut palms. It was a shame it all had to end. Did love this novel way of protecting ones eyes or legs from spikes!

Let’s use up the boiled eggs!

We were thrown ashore at our homestay, where we were the guests of Mr Matthieu and his wife and son. Our room was a hot box, with a helicopter rotor for a fan, with only two settings, on or off. John and I fortified ourselves with our very cheap brandy

and whisky before being entertained to some card tricks performed by the son of the house. After dinner the ladies were dressed in saris and the men in dhotis. Much merriment was had by all, before being sent off to the hot box for a night of hell.

I was very glad to see our minibus the next morning and we escaped the backwater idyll for the buzzy port of Kochi (Cochin). I did love this little town, and my main impression of it is the rain trees – huge, massive, sprawling trees covered in greenery, like wonderful hairy legs.

I remember once having a rain tree table in our house. It had an impressive girth. We walked in the hot sun along the harbour to the spice markets. The smells were intoxicating, and lorries from all over India were parked ready to take their wares to and from the port.

Little men sat at tables with receipts neatly stabbed on a nail, their floors freshly brushed, log books and ledgers all on the tables. It was very much a working place.

We shopped, got tempted; I nearly succumbed to a pashmina made from the chin hair of antelopes. How wonderful would that have been! The price was steep and John just steered me away. Ho hum, we could have got it cheaper if we chose one that had been dyed. I was partial to a pink antelope’s chin hair!

Lunch was delicious. We had sort of wraps, filled with paneer and curry, washed down with lime and ginger soda. It was all beautifully presented, and when I had to retire to the ‘rest room’ I went with confidence.

Imagine my horror as I sat groping for the non-existent toilet paper when suddenly I saw a black object fall at my feet.   There on the floor was a rat. It was as stunned as I was. I leapt up and did a sort of hopscotch step over it, and fled. It wasn’t till I got back to the table that I realised I hadn’t zipped up! The back of my neck seemed to be crawling with fright. It still gives me the shudders. What if it had landed on my head, or my lap???

That night, we wandered by the harbour, watching the traders and the people coming to watch the sun set.

I did like this cat, sitting with his eye on the day’s catch.

Later, when it was dark, we helped the men raise their nets from the strange cantilevered Chinese fishing nets.

They looked like giant spiders during the day and very eerie at night. Then we went to see the Koodiyattam dancing. Two male actors take hours to make themselves up, in quite dramatic make up.

One is a boy and one painted as a girl. They act using their facial expressions as well as hand and feet. It is quite scary and the tempo increases as the eye balls spin round and round. Honest to God. One of our group took a video of him and it really does look bizarre.

It’s strange when you think back on the days, for I have a strong impression of floors. So many places we had to enter barefoot, and I remember the granite of the temple, the polished stone, soft as a banyan tree’s kernel, of the maharajah’s palace, and the cold marble of the ashram in Pondicherry, so wonderful after the glare of the outside world. I was mesmerised by the blue and white tiles, all 1001 of them that came from China and depict bamboo and chrysanthemums and little sailing ships. These form the floor of the synagogue in Port Kochi. It was quite unique, as are the forty or so chandeliers from Antwerp. I had never been in a synagogue before; I am glad my first one has been in India. The Jews were the first traders, way back BC, then the Arabs came, and built wonderful houses with strong walls and doors, all standing today, and all being used much as they had been way back when. And then of course Vasco da Gama arrived, looking a little like Henry V111,

and I can imagine them all, walking as we did, along that busy street sniffing the nutmeg and cinnamon and sailing home with the pepper and cardamom and ginger. I don’t believe much has changed.

And now today we are in Ooty, way up high in the sky, with the mists and the history of times gone by. Tomorrow we will go on the toy train and visit a tea factory. But for now, I am worn out, and chilly. It is actually a blessed relief. The moisture and humidity are more that I had expected. Everything is green and dripping, the leaves are wide and fat and sweat has been running like rivers. It is good to be cool, just for a while.

Goodnight, and as I close down here, I see the mountains jagged in the distance and a moon that is nearly full. Beneath me the hill station lights twinkle, and my pillow awaits!